Ashes
by The Periodic Table of Converse
Summary: "They're even weaker than people in some ways, if you ask me. Like in the Batman comics, didn't Bruce Wayne's parents die? I wonder if all superheroes go through things like that." / Steve encounters a familiar waitress on the walk home. / A Steve/Beth one-shot. K plus for... gangs, I guess...? Review!


**Ashes**

**oOo**

_**Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad**__**.**_

**Henry Wadsworth Longfellow**

**oOo**

The night is an especially icy one, filled with bustling snowflakes and gusts of cool wind washing through the city's streets. Dim candles dripping colored wax line the sidewalks, flickering in the breeze and filling the air with mixed scents, so many of which remind him of home: clean air and blooming flowers and the horrid stench of the Hudson and Bucky, and the old style diners and even the trashy alley ways he would always be beat up in. The ruby colored red lipstick on women and the dog tags dangling from muscular necks and names like James and Margaret and Jim and Gabe don't help either, bringing back nostalgic memories he wishes nothing more than to get over.

Steve kneels down on the sidewalk, examining memorabilia from family and friends who lost someone in the horrible attack on New York City. He can see drawings of smiling faces, and hearts cut out of red paper, some stained with crinkled spots where tears dripped down chins, and homemade cards tucked safely inside soft pastel envelopes, not waiting to be opened, but to offer support and guidance on lower days.

He can't tear his eyes off of the shrine, he can't bring himself to keep from inhaling the various scents wafting through the night, making the air rich with love and friendship and sorrow and the taste of _moving on_, pushing ahead, because if these people can do it, people who don't have a serum running through their veins, then why can't he? He can't even stand to be around the people here with him, who must all be mourning somebody important. Not while he knows that the person next to him lost someone close, whether it be a sister, or a grandmother, or a coworker they were particularly close to.

He can't bear to sit next to people with loved ones who died in the result of his actions. Because he wasn't fast enough, or because he couldn't stand up right away. Because he had to trust civilians with their lives while he fought with Tony Stark and wrestled with aliens.

Instead of pushing himself off of the cement walkway, he bows his head, bathing in the sorrows that seem almost tangible, fluttering delicately against his skin like butterfly wings. He feels as though moving will allow them to brush furiously against his hands, and arms, and across his face, and Steve knows he'll completely lose it if that happens, if he starts contemplating how many sorrows must be out here tonight, on the twenty-four hour anniversary of the Battle of the Chitauri.

In place of fleeing the scene, he stays at the memorial for an extra moment, allowing himself to show emotion before he has to rein his feelings in and become Unbreakable Steve Rogers once again.

A minute passes, and Steve knows that he must leave. He rises slowly, trying hard not to agitate further his injuries, souvenirs of the hard-fought battle, and shuffles down the street, wanting nothing more than to run straight home, and sit at the kitchen table, staring out the window. He knows that he won't be able to sleep tonight. Not when Loki invaded just yesterday. Against his better judgment, Steve strays from the path that will take him back to his small apartment in Brooklyn.

He isn't exactly sure where he is going, but instead wanders the city, ignoring the late hour and the icy air. Steve doesn't know how much time has passed, but he finds himself in front of another shrine. This one isn't for the lost ones. This one is for the Avengers.

He wanders down the street, looking carefully at each section. He knows Tony would love to see this place. There are Iron Man masks littering the sidewalk, and printings and letters that convey the population's love of Tony Stark.

Steve walks past each hero, each person he has on his team. He can feel a small smile gracing his face his lips curl up ever so slightly at the encouraging words of the city. There are plush green fists the size of baseball gloves. The people- paparazzi, most likely- gush over Black Widow and Hawkeye, saying that the two mysterious heroes would make an amazing couple. Thor is depicted as a god, which is fitting, for they look up to him: there is even a small statue carved crudely from a block of wood of a figure wearing a cape and raising a majestic hammer. The kind words make him smile, but Steve is completely unprepared when he comes to the end of the shrine.

He wants to turn away and leave as soon as he sees his masked face painted to a wall. But he knows that he can't. Curiosity is in the human nature. Heck, curiosity killed the cat- it left it lying dead in the middle of the street, but hey- he isn't a cat. Instead, Steve steps closer, gingerly resting a hand on the cement wall. The painting is still fresh and drying. There are replicas of the shield in every way, shape and form. Cards and letters litter the sidewalk, no doubt filled with praise and other thankful words. Suddenly, Steve feels as though he can't breathe. Like a snake has found its way around his neck, and is pulling tight.

He imagines the snake sports Loki's cruel smile and laughs like the maniacal god too.

These people, who have been through Hell today, who lost people they loved today, are thanking him, and his teammates. Steve finds the whole thing hard to process.

He finds himself sinking to his knees for the second time tonight. The area is completely empty. It's not surprising, considering the time and the oppressing darkness.

He stares at the name Captain America, _his name_ really, printed in block letters upon the stone wall. Lost in thought, he doesn't notice when a new body sits down next to him.

Steve looks at her, his eyes clear blue and curious. She grins a bit and looks at the shrine.

"I'm Beth." She only offers up those two words, but Steve is _so_ lonely, and all he wants right now is a friend, a _real_ friend, not a superhero or a stoic agent, so he grips those two words so tight with clenched fists, and refuses to let go. Why shouldn't he have a person to lean on, to talk to and enjoy spending time with? Unfortunately, Steve recognizes his hopes as wishful thinking. He has just met this girl.

"Steve." She nods thoughtfully, and looks back to him. Steve's gaze is once again focused on the wall.

Beth allows her eyes to flit over him for a second, taking in his blonde hair cut neatly, and the blood-lined cuts littering the side of his face, and the broad shoulders hidden underneath a brown leather bomber jacket. She can't help but want to smile when she lets her gaze return to the wall.

"Have you ever wondered… just, what it must be like to be him? To have to wake up every day knowing you might not be alive to fall asleep that night. God, it must be so horrible to not know if you're going to have to save the world again." She rambles, talking mainly to air, but somewhat hoping Steve is listening to her. "To go out and face the world, and listen to people say things about you, whether it be insults or praise, and never be able to defend yourself. To just stare down into your morning cup of coffee every day, never knowing if it will be your last." Steve understands perfectly how that feels. After all, he's done it so many times before. It amazes him how perfectly she captured his life.

She knows he is listening now, because she can see slight reactions to her words, like his jaw clenching, or his fingernails digging into his palms. He doesn't seem mad that she's talking to him, but more like agitated- she curiously wonders why.

"He saved me today. I was trapped, cornered like some kind of caged animal, and he jumped in through the window, shield glinting in the sun. He took the aliens down. I would have died had he not showed up. They set off a bomb, and he went flying out the same window he came in through. Landed on a car, stomach first. I watched him get up, clutching his stomach and grimacing- and I thought about how just because he's a superhero, that doesn't make him invincible too. I really do hope he's alright." Beth sighed, keeping her eyes on the scene in front of her. "They're even weaker than people in some ways, if you ask me. Like in the Batman comics, didn't Bruce Wayne's parents die? I wonder if all superheroes go through things like that."

Steve can't help but wince when she mentions him landing on that car. He looks at her, and his heart seems to crawl into his throat. Beth sits next to him, tears shining in her eyes, curled up into a ball. She trembles slightly, and in the moment all he wants to do is wrap his arms around her. She looks so lost and alone in the world, and Steve can't help but wonder if she lost anybody important today.

She turns to face him, and her green eyes lock onto his blue ones, and she offers him a teary smile. He bites his lip and quirks an eyebrow, unsure what to do or to say. He was never trained to handle this kind of situation. Instead, he stands up slowly and offers his hand to Beth, who is still curled up on the ground, looking as though she wants to sob. He can tell that she already did today.

She places her hand in his and she lets him hoist her to her feet. He's so much taller than her, and his arms are muscular, but his eyes are kind and caring, so she has no doubts about the two of them being alone. Somehow, she can tell he's not the kind of person to go and kidnap her, or take advantage of her weak state.

"I'd better get home. My parents will be worried about me. They overreact a bit too much, but I promised to call them when I got home, and they hate it when I'm out alone past ten." Beth explains, and points over her shoulder towards a particularly sketchy part of the city. She is about to walk off when he speaks.

"Let me walk you home. It's not safe out tonight." He blurts, somewhat hoping that she will accept. She eyes him curiously. This is the second time they've met. There was the weird café incident, what with the radio question. _What was that about, anyways? _Why would he care?

"You don't have to waste your time. My brother taught me a pretty killer right hook." She replies, kind of wishing he will insist. The prospect of walking through those creepy alleyways at night scares her to no ends.

"With all due respect, I can't just leave you to walk through back alleys alone and at night." Steve shakes his head. "I'm coming with you. If it makes you feel better, I'll only walk you to the front of your building."

Beth sighs, (even though she feels slightly giddy on the inside. She heard the old man tell Steve rather loudly to ask for her number, and to say she was disappointed when he didn't was an understatement), knowing that his mind is set and there is nothing she can do to deter it. Instead, she nods and gestures behind her once again, a signal that she is going to start walking.

Steve walks beside her, glad that she relented. His mother would be rolling over in her grave if he let her walk home alone, at three in the morning. They walk side by side through the streets, and when it comes time to enter the back alleys, Steve can't help but suppress a small smile when Beth unknowingly leans a little bit closer to him, obviously grateful to have someone by her side.

The route is a long one, and on the way they hear plenty of thugs. Steve listens to them storming through buildings and calling to each other, their voices rough and raspy and masculine. Each time one of their voices rings through the night Beth curls a bit closer to Steve, until she's almost completely pressed up against his body. Steve doesn't mind, clutching to this small lifeline of normalcy- If you can call walking a woman you just met home at three in the morning normal- in his messed up life.

Beth has just informed Steve that her apartment is only about five more minutes to walk when a small group of thugs, obviously some sort of gang, swarms the alleyway, surrounding Steve and Beth.

She yelps quietly and takes another unknowing step towards Steve, who encircles her waist with his arm and pulls her closer, feeling a sudden strong compassion for the woman who adores Captain America, _him_, so greatly. She turns her back to the gang and buries her face in his shoulder without realizing what she is doing. Steve can tell that not facing the men will keep her more relaxed, and so will the weight of his arm holding her close. All Beth really knows at the moment is that several very scary men are standing in front of them, all wielding blades.

There are only four men here, but every one of them is armed with a knife, and Steve knows Beth's right hook won't be any use against a blade.

"I'm going to have to ask you to leave." Steve says, his voice calm and steely despite the threat less than five feet in front of him.

"Can't do that, pretty boy. See, we got a quota to fill, and unfortunately for you that means we're gonna have ta take yer little girlfriend over there. Boss likes him the pretty blonde ones." A man drawls. Steve isn't sure who said that; he's too busy analyzing the situation to pay attention to which thug is talking.

"I'm sorry sir, but I can't let you do that. This young lady needs to get home." He replies absentmindedly, readying himself for the surprise attack he planned. Then, without warning, Steve backs up and launches himself at the two goons in front of himself and Beth.

Beth can't help but gulp to herself when Steve attacks the men. She had him pegged as someone who couldn't hurt a fly. But her doubts go flying out the window when she sees him drop the first man with a well-placed punch, and knock the second one down with a swift roundhouse kick. He then takes out the two men behind them just as quickly, silencing one with a sudden punch to the jaw and the last with a swift flip over Steve's shoulder. His head slams into the hard-packed dust and he moves no more. Not dead, she reminds herself, shaking slightly; just unconscious.

Beth wants to sob for the second time tonight. The imminent threat of danger scares her, terrifies her, and really all she wants is to go home and curl up in her bed, crying and hugging a pillow. She guesses the look on her face is what jolts Steve to come forward and offer her his comfort.

Steve walks back to Beth, his arms open the slightest degree in a comforting gesture, and Beth slings her arms around his neck, burying her face into his shoulder. She doesn't cry, instead breathing in the scent of musty leather and faint cologne and black coffee. She feels humiliated the way she reacted, looking as though she was going to cry like a newborn. Vague flashbacks show her leaning towards Steve every time something even remotely frightening had occurred. Now she knows why a stranger is being so nice and caring to her. This is pity treatment she's receiving, not actual sympathy.

Steve understands her reaction to the four men. Obviously she's never been engaged in some sort of fight before and the prospect that she could have encountered this on her own had she refused his offer is terrifying. He hasn't acted emotional since before he went under, but considering he had just helped to save the world this afternoon, and Beth obviously needs some kind of support, he allows himself to hold her tighter, his steady arms encircling her waist and pressing her to him like an anchor.

Beth wants to squirm out of his grasp and demand he put her down, but she finds that she is in fact enjoying the contact. The last comfort anyone provided for her when she was frightened was years ago. Adulthood was supposed to be so glamorous, but now she wishes she can go back to being ten years old, when she was allowed to be scared, and it was considered acceptable to cry when afraid.

Several moments pass and eventually Steve sets her back down, smiling faintly. Beth can still hear voices calling through the alley, but now she is unafraid. He offers her his arm and she grasps it tightly, clinging to the gesture like a lifeline.

Wanting to laugh to himself at how old fashioned this gesture is, Steve quietly leads Beth out the alley, and pulls her to the side near a ruined building. Only later does he realize that the building he stopped next to was the bank past 42nd Street on Madison.

"Beth, listen to me, okay? I'm going to take you home now. You need to tell me where your apartment is so I can get you there before anything else happens. It really is not safe at this time of night." Steve tells her, not wanting to pressure the still shocked woman into freaking out.

Beth nods, understanding his gentle words and kind gesture. (Actually, she recognizes those three sentences as the longest she's ever heard his voice before. Shocking, to say the least.) He probably didn't want her to break down in the middle of the street without warning or any idea of how to calm her down. Just more proof that he pities her. Instead of making a scene, though, she points at the apartment building just down the street.

Steve nods, thankful that he has another goal, this one including delivering a woman in need to her home. He steers her away from the ruined building, escorting her through the plain wooden double doors and into the lobby (at her insistence. She now has no doubt that he was not a danger to her). The room is brightly lit, and only the man behind the desk is present in the otherwise empty room. Unfortunately, she knows the young man well. His name is Frankie, and he constantly tries to set up dates for her, although Beth suspects that Frankie himself really likes her. Letting him see her with this man she met once before and then two hours ago is not good.

Frankie grins at her and wiggles his eyebrows, although she detects a hint of jealousy in his expression. Perhaps it's the somewhat concealed glare towards Steve, who's oblivious to the hate being directed at him. She isn't clutching Steve's arm anymore, but she knows Frankie has noticed the protective stance he has of her. Instead of stopping to talk with Frankie, she calls a quiet greeting across the room and looks behind her to see Steve nod respectfully at him. She leads Steve into the stairwell, and they climb the steps in silence.

Steve follows closely behind her as she stops at the third floor and pushes the door to the hallway open. He trails her when she makes her way roughly three quarters of the way down the hall, stopping at room 327, where she fishes around in her pocket for a moment before pulling out a dirty key. She slides the key into the lock and turns, relieved to hear the click of the contraption inside of the door opening.

Crossing the threshold into her apartment, Beth turns around to face Steve. "I…" She really has no idea what to say. She isn't sure if he pities her or if he truly meant the hug they shared back in the alley. "Thank you, Steve. I owe you one." An idea, albeit however stupid it may be, pops into her head. "Wait here. I'll be right back."

Beth disappears into her apartment, hunting for a piece of paper and a pen. Victoriously, she holds up the treasure, and scribbles her name and number onto a blank sheet from her waitress notepad.

"Here," She says when she gets back to the door. "Just in case you ever need anything." Steve takes the paper and tears off the blank part, producing a pen from his jacket pocket.

"Allow me to return the favor then." His name is written incredibly neatly, and his number looks so ordinary, like anyone else's, but Beth knows it's special. It's special because the number she holds in her hand is Steve's.

He turns to go, but Beth stops him with another hug. His arms go around her waist slowly, but Beth can feel them there. She smiles and untangles her arms from around his neck, basking in the warmth he brings. "I'll see you around, Mr. Steve Rogers. Thanks again." The way she says it makes it sound like he lent her a cup of sugar. Then, she retreats into her apartment and shuts the door, feeling exhilarated.

Now, she has a phone call to her parents to live through.

_**WORD COUNT: 3,644**_

_**A/N: WOW… I wrote this like, in June, so six months ago, and I just have to say…**_

_**I was a really crappy writer. I mean, I guess my technique is okay, but seriously, me – Beth sounds like a blabbermouth, I doubt that even happens (Imma Texan peeps), and Steve just doesn't seem like that kind of guy.**_

_**This was originally going to be a multi-chapter fic, inspired by KayMoon24's No Day But Today, which I love. But let's face it – I will never be anywhere close to that amazing.**_

_**So enjoy this complimentary and crappy one-shot instead. Hey! – It's like every single knock-off version of a product ever made.**_

_**Review anyways!**_

_**tPToC**_


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